


Vitrasect

by eoKingdomDom



Category: Besstrashny Plamyah, Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/F, Implications of Bipolar Disorder, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Predator/Prey, Riding Crops, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoKingdomDom/pseuds/eoKingdomDom
Summary: Salamanders are believed to be a spirits that lived in fire.It's such a shame Vitra likes playing with fire.
Relationships: Salamander/Vitra (Besstrashny Plamyah)
Kudos: 1
Collections: Besstrashny Plamyah





	Vitrasect

_“If you’re not fantasising about getting vivisected from your throat down to your asshole, then are you even a bottom?”_

“W-what did you just say?” Vitra stammers in the slightest bit of alarm. Salamander chuckles in reply, hand running a sly path down her captive’s arm, finger catching the buckle of a handcuff.

Sally’s voice, however, betrays her, “Oh! It’s just a little thing I heard before,” it’s too spritely, far too spritely for the given scenario. Although, her voice does deepen as she continues, “Worry not, my dear, it was only said as a quip,” another hand strokes Vitra’s cheek, “I wouldn’t cut _that_ deep.”

Oh.

Vitra squirms in her seat. She doesn’t get much room for movement though, she’s tied to the kitchen chair. Cuffs hold her hands around the back of it and rope tethers her calves to its legs. Black chain decorates her torso, wrapped tight and hooked together with a carabiner at her sternum. The only part of her not tied down is the plume of her skirt, legs held open, exposing the flush of her cream petticoat. She’s out in the open, the centrepiece of the room. Sky blue and ivory cream, pastel softness ensnared in the coils of the oily-black and serpentine salacity. She is the prey of the kitchen. Before the predator of bleeding game.

Salamander treads in a circle around the chair, the glimmer of her coat draping, tracing, shadowing the lady she has made a vulnerability of. There’s something about this movement that’s just completely cold-blooded. Like the spirit of the very amphibian Sally dubbed herself after is dripping wet in the room. She’s slow, calculated, but by every definition of the word: monstrous. Her step is tall, proud and unphased. Her eyes leer down, daring condescendance deep into the humiliated heartstrings of Vitra’s insides. The spread of her coat makes her look all-consuming, overarching, intoxicating. A poison is held in the grace of her hands, in the narrowing of her glare, the lift of her lip. Vitra watches the measure with a slightly painful sting running down her throat. This isn’t the usual warmth and tenderness of Sally, this is something else. It’s merciless and seems… Almost hateful. Why, the way she picks up her crop and slips the loop between her teeth is barely even human. Barely. Even. Human. 

“I think, however, something _must_ be done about this… Less-than-charming behaviour you’ve been exhibiting,” she proposes, not even looking Vitra in the eye. She plays with the leather in her mouth, “I think you need to recall who I am to you.”

“If you say lover, no offence, but I’ll be telling you to sto—”

“I’m your dominatrix,” Sally is emphatic, “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Good, ‘cause I'm not for any of that bullshi—”

“I don’t remember saying you could talk.”

Vitra is stunned into silence. This bitch. If it wasn't for the slender threat of a cropping out on display, Vitra _certainly_ would've kicked up some protest. Sally gives her a glance, eyes narrowed. She smiles when she sees that her captive remains obediently silent.

"Good girl," she praises, stepping closer. She stands beside the chair, "Now, let's lay down some house rules, shall we?" Vitra nods. A hand reaches to gently play with her hair, "First of all, yes, you can talk. However, if you go out of your way to be rude, consequences will apply."

"So basically, if I call you a big bossy bitch, you'll spank me?"

The crop swings around, hitting her near the solar plexus, it jolts her upright with a shock. "Yes," Sally snips, "Yes I will," she holds the crop against Vitra's chest as a warning, "I will also punish you for not following commands, for being too loud or for moving around too much. You are my pet. My submissive little sweetheart," she strokes behind her ear, "And you are to behave for me."

Vitra leans into the attention,"So what happens if I behave?"

There's a soft purr before the reply, “Then you will be mine, won’t you?”

Vitra makes a sound of uncertainty, not entirely sure of the context. Sally grabs her hair and yanks her close, voice darkening, “I will mark you as mine. My darling pet,” it turns guttural, “My dirty little whore.” 

The carnal aggression behind this idea makes Vitra shiver. This woman isn’t sane. Yet, there’s something about the degradation that warms Vitra to the core, in all the wrong ways. She has to curse herself and her love of adrenaline for this. She adores danger. She loves the way Sally, however gentle in nature she may be, can offer such deadly games. If she at all loves this woman, it’s because she offers something that her dearest Gratian never will: Unpredictability. Sally has always been a creature of intrigue, driven to do the strangest of things. Perhaps rebellion has always been a feature of her heart, perhaps it’s what makes her feel at home. Since the day she saw that sceptre in the vintage clothes shop, she trod on her family’s soft Christian traditions to dance in the city of—as her mother would put it—queer and typical Plamyan oddity. From then on, she only fought further. She joined a clan and earned her amphibian title, she got Rade in a tooth-hold for conflicting philosophies, she grabbed onto Vitra’s petticoat blind drunk and wouldn’t let go. And it seems she still won’t. With the way Sally runs a possessive hand down Vitra’s front, it’s clear she still wants this. 

For all that it’s insulting, Vitra couldn’t ask for the attention more. It’s flattering—it is—to be the subject of admirations and dirty, dirty fantasies crafted by this individual. She knows Sally is poisonous, but she likes the sickness. She likes to watch where the hand travelling down her body goes, and she likes the smirk Sally gives, and the nipping teeth wet against her neck. The danger of being held in restraint anywhere near this woman is enough to make her hot and bothered. But actually being held at the _mercy_ of her darker side is another excitement entirely. Sally is volatile, in both decisions and feelings. Sometimes she’ll twirl on the hilltops as high as a kite, fucking any lady she lays eyes upon. But other times, she won’t even go outside, and will starve her body of its every need. She has one foot in the grave, and one foot in a deity’s throne. 

God only knows what this means for anyone she has power over.

**Author's Note:**

> I ship these not, but I like making them hurt each other.


End file.
